


Forget-Me-Not

by Fiorenza_a



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: Illya stepped into the new day, took a deep breath and stretched. Behind him, the classically imposing building from which he had just emerged gleamed like marble in the sun.





	

Illya stepped into the new day, took a deep breath and stretched. Behind him, the classically imposing building from which he had just emerged gleamed like marble in the sun.

He rubbed a rueful hand across his chin, the skin rasping against invisible spikes of stubble.

It had been a long night.

One way or another, there had been a lot of long nights over the years. Good nights, bad nights, quiet nights and, occasionally, indulgent nights. Nights when he'd taken a leaf from his partner's book and shared his body and his bed with another human being.

Stiletto heels beating a staccato tattoo on the flagstones interrupted his train of thought. He turned to greet the interloper with a smile.

''I just needed some air'' he explained himself.

''I brought you some coffee'' replied his visitor proffering a porcelain cup and saucer, delicate as eggshells and patterned with forget-me-nots.

''I'm afraid I'm not much company'' warned Illya.

''I'd noticed'' his visitor replied candidly.

''Sorry'' apologised Illya, dropping his head to sip from the fine china rattling gently in his hands ''It's been a long night.''

''He'll be okay'' his visitor assured him ''He's sleeping peacefully now.''

Illya's eyes flicked up, the tiny blossoms on the china echoing more than their colour. ''This time'' he qualified ''But what about next time, or the time after that?''

''The future is not ours to know'' counselled his visitor.

''The future is bleak'' Illya offered in return ''We are all nothing but animated dust awaiting the inevitable ravages of entropy.''

''Is nihilism really your recommendation?'' protested his visitor ''A man who works for U.N.C.L.E.? Or have you sprouted new plumage?''

''Napoleon's alive today'' replied Illya ''But he will die tomorrow, some tomorrow. We all will.''

''Death is our destination'' agreed his visitor ''But our ancestors knew that too and yet they fought and built and dreamed.''

''Look on my Works, ye Mighty …'' quoted Illya bitterly.

''What would you have us do, Illya?'' asked his visitor ''Sit around playing checkers until the universe crumbles to atoms?''

''It might not be a bad idea'' muttered Illya petulantly.

''And Napoleon?'' prompted his visitor.

''Napoleon's a fool'' snapped Illya forcefully ''He'll go on trying to get himself killed until he finally succeeds.''

''And the bit before that?'' asked his visitor.

''Oh you mean the bit where I have the pleasure of watching my partner exsanguinate before my very eyes?'' demanded Illya ''Or asphyxiate, or drown, or be diced into little pieces? Or be poisoned, brainwashed or just plain shot?''

''Yes'' pressed his visitor with wry indulgence ''What do you suppose Napoleon calls that bit?''

''Napoleon's a fool'' repeated Illya tersely.

''If you say so, you know him best '' conceded his visitor ''But knowing him best, what do you think he calls it?''

Illya shuffled his feet and drained his cup. Holding the delicate vessel up to the sun and watching its light illuminate the pattern of tiny blooms, before repeating quietly but stubbornly ''Napoleon's a fool.''

''But what does he call it?'' insisted his visitor.

Illya smiled lopsidedly in defeat ''You know what he calls it.''

''I do'' agreed his visitor ''So tell me.''

Illya turned to study the windows behind which lay his partner's cheated deathbed. ''Life '' he offered to the blankly indifferent windowpanes ''Napoleon calls it life.''

''It's not how we die that really matters, Illya, or even why'' confirmed his visitor ''It's the bit before and what we do with it.''

Illya turned back to face her ''Any more of that coffee? I hate to admit it, but I'm asleep on my feet.''

''Sure'' his visitor responded generously ''A whole pot full.''

Falling into step with the clicking stilettos as they led the way back into the building, Illya offered ''If you promise never to tell him I said so, I'll let you in on a little secret.''

''Oh?'' queried his visitor as she held the door open for him.

Illya raised a sardonic eyebrow at the gesture, but nevertheless confided as they made a beeline for the coffee pot ''Napoleon may be a fool, but he seems to have an uncanny knack for the bit before we die.''

''That's funny'' observed his visitor as she poured another cup of steaming black coffee into the forget-me-nots ''That's exactly what he said about you.''

 

END

 

[Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/resources/learning/core-poems/detail/46565)

**Author's Note:**

> Written to commemorate the death of Robert Vaughn, 22 November 1932 - 11 November 2016


End file.
